When you came here you were beautiful and broke,
when did you get so bold?
Did you grow tired of stealing all your smokes?
So youï¿½re going for the gold.
You never had nothing to say, but you still spoke anyway.
You wear your airs, like an accessory.
You wear a crown as you hold court.
You switched from switching shifts,
to now youï¿½re selling shares (of yourself).
I wonï¿½t buy, but Iï¿½ll sell you short.
Youï¿½ve got keepers to keep you awake and keepers to keep you away.
From the suits who record and parlay,
the price youï¿½ll eventually pay, hey, hey.
Now youï¿½re going for the gold.
Every shaking hand is a chance to make your break.
Itï¿½s all in who you know, you know.
But every open hand is surely on the take.
It wonï¿½t take too long to show.
You find fashionable friends to replace,
the ones you spit out like tired clichï¿½s,
keep a list of your every lay,
and it reads like a resume.